


It's Time

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Frottage, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of events leads Blaine to realize that it’s time to send Kurt to New York. This fic highlights a few moments from the start of autumn up through Blaine’s last performance for Kurt in the McKinley courtyard. <b><a href="http://ourlivesareweird.tumblr.com/post/32760838367/its-time">Reblog on Tumblr!</a></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Time

Autumn was never a season that Blaine had to learn to love. More than any other, it was a time of change, the leaves swept with reds and golds, as though steeped in the color of the sun as it slipped beneath the horizon. Crackling fires were still months away, but on the best of mornings, Blaine greeted the day with a smile as he nudged aside his covers to reveal the smooth, pale curve of Kurt’s shoulder, the chill of the room enough to draw out a protesting whimper and the tight wrap of arms around his waist. Blaine’s lips pressed their apology against bare skin as the pair of them burrowed back under the blankets, warm and safe.

Though it was selfish, he couldn’t help feeling grateful for the fact that there was nothing to mar the start of the year, leaning forward to brush a kiss against every freckle which had revealed itself over the course of a lazy summer, clear now against the flush of sleep.

* * *

  
“I’m staying over tonight.”

It was the calm which alarmed Blaine more than anything else, blinking at the sweep of brunette curls against his arm as Tina slipped through his front door. He took a couple of steps back, a belated invitation that went as unnoticed as the gentle click of the door behind him, before following the retreating figure into the parlor, where cobalt blue wool drew sharp contrast with the deep mahogany of the furniture.

“Yes,” he said by way of greeting, leaning lazily against the wall. “You may come in. And yes, you can stay over, although next time it might be nice to get a little warning in advance.”

“I broke up with Mike.”

A pause. Blaine froze where he stood, only to pull away suddenly, hands reaching out and closing gently around Tina’s arms. “Wait, Tina, did you… just drive back from Chicago? Weren’t you going to stay there until the start of the school year?”

“Yeah, and I managed all of a week before I realized that it wasn’t doing either of us any good,” she replied in her smoothest voice, although her fingers crept up to rest on Blaine’s hand, a small betrayal. “Blaine, Chicago’s like this whole other  _world_. I knew it was going to be hard, and I thought that I’d be jealous of all those girls in the dance studio, but that wasn’t it. To  _finally_  watch Mike start towards his dreams, knowing that I couldn’t be there to see it happen and that I’d only be taking time away from letting him realize them? I wasn’t strong enough to keep that up.”

He held silent, but it struck Blaine then that he’d never seen Tina hold her shoulders back so straight. Not when it came to Mike. And he wondered.

“Anyway.” She brushed Blaine’s hands away, carefully crossing both arms over her chest, as though shutting a door. “Do you have time to head downtown tomorrow? I need to see someone about a tattoo.”

* * *

  
Compared to the way things ran at Dalton, William McKinley High School was remarkably vacant in the few days leading up to the start of the year. Instead of cars loaded with boxes and families speckled throughout immaculately kept lawns, most of the activity on campus consisted of the steady spritz of sprinklers desperately trying to breathe life back into dusty fields. Still, with Kurt out interviewing for a job, Blaine had a couple of hours to waste.

Funny how they brought him there. Already, the doors at the entrance didn’t quite beckon in the way they used to. He remembered the last time he ran up the wide staircase and wove through a crowd of disgruntled students, no one sparing even a minute to help point him towards Kurt’s locker. Blaine had managed anyway, guided by faint memories of Kurt back during their time at Dalton, the way his eyes had shone brightly as he led Blaine through the halls, pointed out the individual lockers of his former fellow glee club members, waved towards his own vacated spot—

_“—and I made this collage to go underneath your picture. I know it’s kind of silly, but it read ‘courage,’ because you taught me how to find that in myself again back when I felt just about ready to give up.”_

“You… are remarkable, Kurt.”

“A remarkably good tour guide, at least. You know, there’s a broom closet just to our left that the janitor used to leave unlocked.”

“Wait, are you suggesting that we…?”

“There’s this little thing you may have missed during your time in public high school, Blaine. It’s called Seven Minutes of Heaven.”

Blaine smiled, and maybe it was just the slowly dipping sun, but the stairs looked a touch brighter again as he skimmed his fingers along the grate, glancing over his shoulder at the steps where Kurt had stood so many times with a kind word or flowers. His fingers closed around the cold metal, shaking the frame just so. It felt steady.

* * *

  
Blaine must have crossed the locked doors of the auditorium for the fifth time before he finally noticed a series of steady, rhythmic claps in the distance, echoing down the length of the hall. Eyes narrowing, he slipped his hands into his pockets and made his way closer, parted lips curving into a broad smile as he entered the cafeteria and was greeted by the sight of several cheerleaders seated at a round table near the corner of the room.

“Hey guys,” he called out, raising a hand in greeting as he approached the table, hovering uncertainly and watching as the girls drummed in unison on a set of bright red plastic cup. “What are you all up to? Did Sue drag everyone here for a grueling summer practice?”

“Kind of,” replied the Cheerio closest to him, a brunette whose hair was done up in a tight bun on top of her head. “She scheduled all of our summer practices before school let out—”

“—and unless you want to be on the bottom of the pyramid, that means you  _make_  the practices,” another chimed in. “Even if it means giving up a proper summer vacation—”

“—but I think she had her baby, or it’s being delivered early or something?” A third added, a slight blonde whom Blaine didn’t recognize, although something about her smile felt extremely familiar. “Knowing Sue Sylvester, though, she’ll probably show up long before her maternity leave’s up.”

Blaine nodded, brows raised in understanding. “Ah, I see. And you’re afraid that she might show up unannounced and use the attendance list that day to help her make cuts to the team,” he reasoned, arms crossed over his chest. “It… does sound like her.”

“So why are you here?” the blonde asked, giving the other girls a look that put an immediate stop to their game. Resting an elbow neatly on the top of her cup, the Cheerio folded her fingers underneath her chin. “You’re part of the glee club, right?”

“Yeah, actually. I’m Blaine, I don’t think we’ve…?”

“Kitty,” she cut in, still wearing the same smile. “Just transferred. I heard a lot about McKinley’s national award-winning clubs, and I have to admit I was torn for a while between trying out for the Cheerios or that singing group of yours, but I decided to go with the club that had more longevity. I’m sure you understand.”

He blinked, then offered a slight shrug. “Yeah, sure, of course.”

“Anyway, you didn’t answer my question.” Kitty nudged her chair to the side, pushing out an empty seat with the toe of her shoe. “Sit. Tell us why you’re here. Surely a single national championship doesn’t have you, like, totally eager to hang out at school all day. Because that’d be kind of sad. No offense.”

Glancing down at the offered seat, Blaine pressed his lips together, then smiled politely with a shake of his head. “Actually, I’m just here waiting for my boyfriend to find back about a potential job. Once he calls, I’m out of here, but I didn’t want to distract him from the interview,” he explained, grinning as a couple of the cheerleaders at the other side of the table cooed in unison.

“You’re so lucky,” the brunette complained, folding her hands neatly under her chin. “My boyfriend graduated last year too, but he’s going out of state to Berkeley. Their fall semester started last week, and I’m already missing him like  _crazy_. I wish he’d just gone to OSU or something. Or even Purdue.”

“Oh no, Becca, trust me,” said the girl seated next to her. “My boyfriend, Jason? He’s taking classes on the Lima campus of OSU so that he can save money on dorm costs. And you’ve seen how he’s been here for every other one of our practices—I just can’t help thinking, what’s the point of dating a college guy if he doesn’t have a cool dorm room for me to crash in? If he ends up hanging around here, I don’t know what I’ll do, he’d be such a loser.”

“What do you think, Kitty?” Becca asked, pressing her fingers to her lower lip. “Who do you agree with more, me or Michelle?”

Kitty rolled her eyes, shaking her head and rising from her seat. “I think this is a waste of time,” she announced, turning towards the nearest exit. “I’m going to go work on our Britney number.”

Rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, Blaine took a step closer to the table. Glancing up his way, Michelle shook her head, raising a hand and whispering conspiratorially. “She’s just annoyed because she hasn’t found a boyfriend yet. I don’t know what her deal is; it’s totally earning her points with Sue, who’s back to championing the independent woman.”

“She’s probably going to take over Quinn’s spot,” lamented Becca, rubbing idly at her forehead.

“I don’t know, I think Brittany’s still slated to be head cheerleader.”

With a slight huff of laughter, Blaine shook his head, listening to the distant sound of sneakers scuffing against linoleum flooring, gaze caught on the bright red of the cups. Impulsively, he reached out for the back of Kitty’s chair, tentatively pulling it out and glancing at the girls for approval. “Do you guys mind if I join you for a while? I’d actually really like to talk about how you guys are handling long distance relationships, if you don’t mind.”

* * *

  
“—and I swear, this lady’s  _mastered_  the art of sipping the coffee out from under foam. I must have prepared a dozen cappuccinos for her just this week, but she always returns them at half-height and says I’m skimping out on her coffee.” Kurt paced around with a heavy sigh, brows knit as he rubbed at his temples with both hands, the wide circles mussing his otherwise carefully coiffed hair.

Biting back his amusement, Blaine tilted his head, gaze following Kurt’s steps until the surrounding cabinets began to blur. “Kurt?”

“And I don’t know how she does it, but there’s never a  _single_  trace of her bright red lipstick on the cups, either. Maybe she’s wiping them quickly when I’m not looking? Because that shade is  _never_  available in foolproof lipstick,” Kurt added, gesticulating wildly with his hands and still pivoting sharply as he walked back and forth. “Believe me, I’ve looked.”

“Kurt, honey.”

“Oh! And,  _and_ , the espresso machine is absolute  _murder_. I know that the new guy has to pay his dues and is put on cleaning duty,” sighed Kurt, waving his hand before slipping his fingers under the silken material of his scarf, loosening it. “But as it turns out, coffee grounds are practically  _impossible_  to clean out from under one’s nails, and I don’t make enough to go for daily manicures, I don’t! At this rate, my nails are going to just dry out or turn a nasty shade of yellow, and don’t get me started on this apron. I have to wear a scarf  _just_  to keep it from chafing against the back of my neck, but now I’m terrified that I’ll spill on the silk and then it’ll just be unrecoverable.”

With a patient smile, Blaine strode across the room and carefully caught Kurt between his arms, palms pressed against the cool, rounded edge of the kitchen counter. Kurt let out a faint gasp, eyes wide as he peered down at Blaine, thoughts brought to an abrupt halt.

“As inclined as I am to agree with everything else you’ve said,  _damn_  that woman and how  _dare_  your colleagues not appreciate all the care you put into your nails, I’m afraid insulting the apron might be taking it a little too far,” Blaine said, eyes shining as he pursed his lower lip, leaning close enough to catch the strong scent of coffee that lingered on Kurt’s clothes, the smell slightly burnt and roasted. Before long, he was dropping small kisses against Kurt’s temple, down his cheek, along the line of his jaw—anywhere he could reach and that would keep Kurt’s frustration at bay. “I think it looks  _amazing_  on you.”

Letting out a slight huff of air, Kurt turned in Blaine’s arms until the small of his back pressed against the counter, hands hesitantly making their way to Blaine’s shirt and tugging at the fabric. “Okay, as sweet as that is, Blaine, I can  _guarantee_  you that all the apron does is cover up the really cute ensembles I’m wearing underneath. No one’s going to notice the McQueen pattern underneath this forest green…  _canvas_.”

Pulling back, Blaine squinted briefly at Kurt before dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“I want to make a bet.”

Kurt raised a brow.

“You can take off your apron and show off what you have on today,” he began, pausing for a couple of seconds. “And then you can take off the clothes and model just the apron for me.”

Immediately, Kurt’s cheeks deepened to a brushed pink.

“If you’re right and the outfit’s cuter, you’re welcome to vent about the Lima Bean for the rest of the night.” Leaning in, Blaine pressed a kiss against the shell of Kurt’s ear, reveling in the slight catch of breath which resulted and the slight arch of Kurt’s back, spreading his fingers wide over his spine. “But if I’m right, then you’re not allowed to take the apron off for the rest of the evening.”

Blaine felt Kurt shiver suddenly against his chest, and he grinned.

* * *

  
“Well,  _I_  am off now to my afternoon shift,” Kurt announced, stacking the pair of empty coffee cups before climbing out of his seat, tossing them neatly into the garbage can which stood a few feet away and turning on his heels with a slight flourish. “And you are headed to…?”

“European History,” Blaine grinned, rounding the table and briefly slinging his arm around Kurt’s waist, pulling back before the touch lingered for too long. “Putting to use all that you’ve taught me about Charlemagne.”

Bumping Blaine’s hand out of the way with a jut of his hip, Kurt smiled, rolling his shoulders in a subtle gloat now that they were free of heavy shoulder bags and piles of textbooks. “Well, if you decide that rehashing what you already know gets tiresome and you want to ‘go home sick,’ you’ll know where to find me,” he said, pointing his thumb towards the parking lot. “Talk soon?”

With a nod, Blaine lingered by the lunch table for a second longer before heading in the opposite direction, straightening his tie with the aid of a classroom window. Spotting a bright red uniform by the corner of the dimmed room, Blaine frowned in concern, turning the handle and stepping inside. The high ponytail was unmistakable.

“Brittany?”

Sure enough, she glanced up and looked over her shoulder, a smile immediately spreading across her face—but there a certain muted quality to it that Blaine had never observed before, as though her gaze couldn’t quite come into focus. Quietly, he shut the door behind him, the buzz of the crowd fading as he strode to her side.

“Blaine Warbler,” she greeted, straightening her shoulders. “Are you here for home ec too? I don’t know why no one else is here yet; we’re supposed to make cupcakes today and that’s, like, the most popular class because everyone really likes to eat the frosting straight from the can.”

Wincing, Blaine rested his hand on her shoulder. “Brittany, home economics isn’t until sixth period. I’m pretty sure you should be headed off to US History.”

He felt Brittany’s shoulder slump under his palm. Sighing heavily, Brittany turned towards the door with Blaine at her heels, but she stopped before reaching for the door. “I really miss Santana,” she announced, staring through the thin sliver of a window at the crowd of students passing in either direction. “She always knew where my classes were and didn’t get impatient if I didn’t remember where I was supposed to go next, and by the end of the year, I could make my way to the right classes no problem. But… I guess she’s happier in Kentucky now because she finally has classmates that can withstand her cutting, cutting words. And she says that college students are a lot more understanding about ladykisses than they are here at McKinley. I think that’s awesome.”

Glancing quickly at the classroom block, Blaine edged through the door after Brittany, deciding that he had the time to spare to make sure that she made it safely to her next period. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he kept half a step behind Brittany, gaze slowly meandering towards the floor, its pattern blurring with the movement. “Brittany, do you ever regret applying to the University of Louisville for Santana? I mean, as you’ve pointed out, the long distance relationship can’t be easy.”

Immediately, Brittany stopped in the middle of the hall, turning to face Blaine. “Okay, were you paying any attention? Because I just told you that Santana’s happier over there. Yeah, she misses me and I miss her, but knowing that she’s happy makes  _me_  happy. Also, I’ve discovered that the key to kisses over Skype is to wear a lot of lip gloss so that it kind of feels like you’re gliding against the other person’s mouth when you kiss the screen. But don’t use watermelon, because that’s like crack for cats.”

Sometimes, Blaine really did believe that there was truth to what Artie said about Brittany. However disconnected she often seemed from reality, when it came to friendship and devotion, she knew how to cut directly to the heart.

She was also walking down the wrong hall.

“Hey, Brittany, where are you headed?” Blaine asked, jogging the few steps it took to catch up.

“Didn’t you just tell me that I had US History? I’m heading to Mr. Schue’s classroom.” She pointed at his door. “It’s the one place that I always remember other than the choir room.”

Blaine hesitated before nodding. “Well, Brittany, that  _is_  Mr. Schuester’s room, but he teaches math now, remember?”

“Wait, seriously?” Brittany frowned, hugging her books closer to her chest as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “How does that make sense? Mr. Schue’s really bad with numbers. We don’t even have enough people in glee right now to be a full team, and we had  _more_  than enough auditions.”

Shaking his head, Blaine grinned as he laid his hands on Brittany’s shoulders, turning her in the opposite direction. “You’ve got me.”

* * *

  
“It’s not really all that different of a concept than playground jump rope,” Kara pointed out, glancing over her shoulder as she guided the rope in a large, swooping arc, the snaps against concrete falling in time with the music which played from a nearby boom box. “Of course, we can do a lot more now than hop around to Down by the River, but the playground was definitely our inspiration.”

Seated on the bottom step in front of the court, Blaine smiled up at the throng of teens as he casually flipped his phone in circles, fingers pinched at the corner to keep it from flying out of his hold. “And the music?” he asked, nodding towards the radio.

“Helps a lot with keeping pace,” replied Joy, who held on to the other end of the rope, nodding for Blaine to join. “Seriously, you should try it. It helps keep your mind off everything else.”

“And it looks nice and flashy,” offered Kara with a teasing grin.

With an exhaled laugh, Blaine pushed himself up and slipped his phone into the side pocket of his messenger bag, thumbs hooking briefly on his pockets before he pulled closer, staring at the small tube of brightly colored plastic which helped to track the rope’s progress. “Am I really that obvious?” he asked, brow arched.

“Somewhere Only We Know?” Joy pursed her lips.

Kara shook her head. “No, I’ve got a better example,” she said, glancing at Blaine. “It’s Not Unusual?”

“Ooh, good one.”

Raising both hands in surrender, Blaine laughed. “Okay, okay. I’ll admit it. I love using the courtyard to make a statement,” he agreed, starting to snap his fingers in time with the music. “And I like using song even more, apparently.”

“Come on, it’s only one rope for now, don’t take all day.”

Once he slipped past the initial fall of the rope, Blaine found that keeping time was remarkably simple with the music crackling in the background, even with the signal occasionally interrupted by static. Joy wasn’t incorrect in pointing out that there was a certain calm that came with the focus, in steady footfalls and the constant thrum of the scene in front of him, shifting constantly with those couple inches of extra height.

If anything, it was almost  _too_  easy. Blaine found himself free to wonder how Kurt might react to the sight of him playing jump rope with a couple of his classmates. He’d be exasperated, probably. Endeared as well. It could be impressive if he added a little more to the performance of it, sang a song, played with a band.

“Say,” he said, glancing to either side. “Are either of you fans of Imagine Dragons?”

* * *

  
“Do you think that I’m a sad sack?”

“What?” Blaine frowned, pulling his head up and off of his pillow as he glanced down at Kurt, whose wide eyes stared up imploringly as he held his hands to his chest. “No, of course you aren’t—where did you get an idea like that?”

Arching a skeptical brow, Kurt sighed, turning on his side and reaching an arm out to wrap around Blaine’s waist, the knuckles of his fingers pressing lightly against the small of Blaine’s back to draw him close. “Well, you know how I stopped by today to visit Sue, right?”

At once, Blaine exhaled deeply, rolling his eyes with a shake of his head. “Yes, and I also know that Sue makes it her personal mission to make everyone around her absolutely  _miserable_  in an effort to bolster her own confidence and further her own agenda,” he pointed out, sliding slightly back down under the covers and reaching out with a hand, resting it on the curve of Kurt’s shoulder, thumb nudging against the soft cotton tank. “You’re not letting what she says get to you, are you?”

“Well, she has a  _point_ , Blaine. None of the other graduated members of New Directions ever stop by McKinley anymore. Mercedes is off in LA with a recording deal, Mike’s dancing his heart out in Chicago, Santana’s off terrorizing a  _college_  cheer team, Quinn’s at  _Yale_. Even, even Finn and Puck are going their own way, Blaine,” said Kurt, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I know that NYADA was kind of a long shot given the size of the program, but I guess I never saw myself as the only senior who wouldn’t get out of here.”

Blaine felt something constrict in his chest, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Kurt’s cheek, which pulled a halfhearted smile from Kurt’s lips. “Honey, we’ve talked about this,” Blaine pointed out, hand shifting until his thumb brushed along the line of Kurt’s collarbone, eliciting a sigh as he passed over smooth skin. “The biggest reason why you’re feeling restless right now is because your fall semester starts later than everyone else’s, which is absolutely no fault of your own. I guarantee that if Mike’s term had started any later, he’d still be at school helping us out with choreography.”

“And maybe he’d talk some sense into Tina, too. Ten bucks say they get back together before Christmas.”

Grinning broadly, Blaine leaned in close, sneaking a leg over Kurt’s hip and pressing him heavily against the mattress, brushing warm fingers and chasing after the heat which quickly spread over Kurt’s cheeks. Letting either elbow press down into Kurt’s pillow, Blaine bracketed his boyfriend with his warmth, with his body, as though he could physically shield Kurt from all of the worries Blaine could see weighing him down.

“You’re  _going_  to make it to New York, Kurt. We’ll work on your transfer application together, and I think it’ll look great that you’re still taking classes in the meantime and saving up to support yourself once you’re there,” said Blaine, leaning down to nudge the tip of his nose against Kurt’s forehead.

“I guess so.”

“I  _know_  so.”

“God,” sighed Kurt, dragging a foot up until the sheets rucked under him. “I have the perfect boyfriend.”

* * *

  
When school had begun the previous year, Blaine remembered taking a second to marvel at Kurt’s complexion, caught on the way that fading freckles made way for smooth, unblemished skin. They usually receded by the start of school, Kurt had explained, no longer the victim of relentless sun and further hidden under fluorescent lighting, serving as a curtain call on the freedom of summer and marking the return of school and friends. But as Blaine gazed down in that moment, desperate gasps brushing against the shell of his ear and the drag of nails sharp down his spine, he couldn’t help but notice them in the dim, golden light. There was little patience granted for his reverie as he felt a heel press against the small of his back, though no words were granted, no exchange shared—just the wide-eyed, fevered stare of Kurt underneath him, writhing,  _pushing_ , constantly driving them closer to that edge. Change reared its head in the glow of perspiration, in damp locks of hair snaking over Kurt’s temples, and for one terrifying, shuddering moment, Blaine wasn’t sure how to adjust.

So he started with the familiar.

His breath hitched as his hips pressed down, rocking smooth and sinuously slow, stalling urgency and heightening it all at once. Nudging his body, Blaine searched for Kurt’s pulse until he felt it clashing with his own, cacophonic until Blaine wrapped his palms around thin wrists, pushing them up towards the headboard. There, they stilled, deep hazel on slate blue until they closed the distance at once, lips slotting and finding pace.

The experience was changed, stuttered for the way that Blaine found his heart snagging on every detail that reared itself. Kurt whined high in his ear as Blaine mapped out the line of his neck, teeth scraping against the curve of Kurt’s jaw, a memory committed. Lashes falling to a close, Blaine’s fingers traveled up the line of Kurt’s abdomen, trailing to the faint line of hair underneath his navel, tips dragging down in little circles until he had hot flesh against his palm—feeling where he often saw, breathing where he often tasted. Again,  _again_ , until Kurt bucked against his hand in impatience, marring the details that Blaine sought to map out in his mind repeatedly until seared.

Eventually, protest faded, faint pink lines the only remnant mapped on Blaine’s skin and fingers finding their place instead by the cut of Blaine’s hip. Perhaps Kurt’s heart had already come to realize what his mind couldn’t make out in the fog, for his hands gripped tighter and his gaze steadied as Blaine fucked him, slow enough to make out the quiver in their muscles and the slide of sweat behind their cheeks.

Blaine leaned forward, pressing a kiss to every freckle he encountered, a thousand mapped out over Kurt’s skin like constellations in the sky, and still he knew that it wouldn’t be enough.

But the few missed weren’t a problem. Discoveries left for another day.

How many times Blaine toed the line that day—in the shadow of Kurt’s temple, in the heated softness of Kurt’s inner elbow, the barest brush of rough skin under his skin which only reared itself at that time of night. He felt the jump of Kurt’s muscles under the barest brush of his fingertips, felt the thin, reedy whine which thrummed through Kurt’s chest, brushed smooth the furrow under Kurt’s brow—sweet agony.

“Blaine,  _I’m—_ ”

He leaned in close to capture the moment, watching as Kurt came and breathed it in before he fell shortly thereafter, the both of them little more than a tangle of sweaty limbs weighed with exhaustion and slipping soon into sleep.

* * *

  
The rattle of the metal cage underneath the heel of Blaine’s palm drew patronizing stares from passerby, but even the sun couldn’t rival his smile as he hefted his end of the keyboard higher, wheels gliding easily over the edge of the topmost stair. As the band started to set up behind him, Blaine walked to the edge of the staircase, hands placed on his hips as the surveyed the crowd below. In mere minutes, Kurt’s car would pull up in the parking lot, and he’d step out with two cups precariously and skillfully stacked in one hand, another locking the doors behind him. Regular, practiced, and routine.

“Hey guys,” he said, glancing over his shoulder and clasping his hands together as he headed for the stairs. “Thanks again for agreeing to do this. I’m going to go down and wait for Kurt, so just hang tight and wait for the Cheerios’ signal.”

“A whole lot of work just to sing to your boyfriend, isn’t it?” asked the lead guitarist as Blaine started down the stairs.

Blaine paused, halfway down, hand curling lightly around the banister. “Not really,” he replied with a shrug. “This is to celebrate him and urge him towards better things.

“It’s time.”


End file.
